


Black Sea

by Fandoms_destroyed_me



Series: Unfinished Stories: The Originals Edition [1]
Category: The Originals (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 03:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_destroyed_me/pseuds/Fandoms_destroyed_me





	1. Chapter 1

"The truth may hurt, but it is the lies that truly wound us."

✴〰️✴〰️✴

    MARCEL continued to quietly observe Emile as he lit the light pale cigarette that hung loosely tucked in between his forefinger and thumb, puffs of concentrated smoke forming into airy whisps as he ignited the long thin stick of cancer. He watched silently as the fumes began to take shape, little puffs of symbolic death floating throughout the darkened room, settling heavily against both of their tense, broad shoulders. 

    Marcel often didn't mind the tobacco odor, already aquainted with addicting stench that usually crowded around Emile Stuart. But something about this sort of scent put him at an unease.

    Emile ignored the look of smugness on Marcel's face, glaring at him with a suspicious scowl, instead he chose to draw his own gaze to the beautifully hand crafted sculpture just beyond Marcel's head. The sculpture was an elegant piece, hand crafted swirls colliding together with exquisite frameworks to create the beautiful handmade masterpiece; and it was a late birthday gift, from Davina Claire herself, (who he appreciated greatly).How she achieved such an extravagant and timeless thing, he didn't know. Only taking the obvious guess that Marcel, a man of many secrets and talents had something to do with its presence. Not that Emile complained at the moment, his deep heartfelt passion of art emoting off of him noticeably. He smiled fondly at the memory.

   Davina and Emile were an inseparable pair, best friends connected at the hip. He would do anything for the young witch and vice versa. The two were alike in various ways, they both-were outcasts-rescued from the ever eminent death that lingered quietly behind their closed door, an eeire shadow casted, following behind their every move. He hadn't felt that close to anyone, until Davina.

   The tension around the two men grew tiresome, slowly but surely minutes of their intense silence turned gracefully into an hour. And yet, without moving a muscle Marcel did not rid himself of his widening grin, perfect teeth and all; it reminded Emile of the famous Cheshire cat. 

   The sustaining urge to wipe it off of his handsome face passed over Emile's slender frame quickly, however thinking it through, decided to not act upon it. Instead choosing to replace his disintegrating cigarette for a new, fresher one. He hummed to himself pleased.

    Slowly relaxing, he felt himself shrink deep within the fabrics of his apartment sofa. As his pink, chapped lips closed around the tobacco stick, he could feel himself untense; his eyes fluttering shut in a final contentment. It however, was short lived as the shuffling sound of heavy feet brought him out of his daze, Thierry stepped into the room hesitantly, grim expression plastered onto his face. Once his slow pace bought him to Marcel's side Thierry didn't hesitate another moment before he leaned in to whisper something distinctive into Marcel's ear. Emile strained his magical aura to catch Thierry's words, his curiosity peaking, but Thierry was already backing away by the time he actually caught a glimpse of the heated discussion.

   "Four dead found just outside Rousseau's, two had their hearts ripped out and another decapitated."

   Emile saw Marcel tense up.

   There was a distinct look in Thierry's eyes, it increased when he turned to face Emile shyly, shooting him a cold dead stare that Emile almost missed, but he didn't and that caused him to send a smirk at him in response. Of course, he spoke internally, Thierry had suspected him; probably even blamed him by the looks of it. Emile could see the gears in Marcel's head turning as he spun to face his witch protégé, his dark eyes holding Emile's strong green ones. He wanted to bark out a laugh.

   "Leave us." Marcel ordered patiently, not taking his eyes off of Emile. 

   Thierry nodded obediently-like the good pet he was-and stalked out of the room, his head hanging low, hoping to remain hidden from Emile gaze but the male witch had other ideas, using his magic Emile forced Thierry's head up so they locked eyes; Emile gave him a suggested wink. Thierry however did not seem amused, but that's what made it all the more worthwhile Emile smirked to himself happily.

    Marcel cleared his throat in awkwardness, running a dark hand down his impassive expressionless face. Emile noticed exhaustion marks lining the sides of Marcel's mouth and eyes, but could not bring himself comment on it. Worry eteched into his brows.

    "Did you have anything do with it?"There was no humor in his voice, nothing to suggest what was actually running through Marcel's wild mind, the man took on more than he could really chew. Emile stared blankly at Marcel before rolling his eyes, as if.

   "I'm flattered, Marcel." Emile laughed darkly, taking a drag, "really I am." 

   "Don't play games with me Em," Marcel sighed tiredly, "tell me the truth."

   "No." Emile wanted to smack him. "I didn't."

   "Then, who did?" Marcel questioned, there was an accusatory glint in his eyes and Emile grew defensive. His jaw clenched, his shoulder and back tensing. He couldn't believe Marcel.

   "Well, who the bloody hell knows Marcel, there are dozens of residents in this city who have a vendetta against you, it could be anybody." Emile brushed off the burning ash off his bud angrily.

   "Yeah, well I highly doubt that." Marcel mumbled.

   "Hey!" Emile barked back defensively, his free hand flying in the air for emphasis, "if I said I didn't do it, then I didn't."

   "Well, I'm finding that very hard to believe, considering you are the only person I know who's brave enough to kill my men."

   Emile felt his body go still, if Marcel actually believed that Emile would murder some of his men just to get back at him, then he did not know Emile Stuart at all. 

   Emile could do so much worse, would do so much worse.

   "Fine, don't believe me." I don't fucking care." Emile stood up then, his comfortable place on the couch gone. He took one last, long drag of his cigarette before discarding it to the floor. The heel of his shoe digging into the ashes.

   "Where are you going?" Marcel called out dangerously as Emile began to shuffle on his coat. 

   "To find someone in this god forsaken city who will actually believe me," Emile replied coldly as stalked angrily to the exit.

    Marcel sagged down, letting the heavy weight that settled against his shoulders to rest against the back of chair he was seated on. "Look, I'm sorry alright, just," Marcel motioned to the sofa hastily, "sit. Please." 

   Emile halted as he turned back around, gaze following the direction of Marcel's gestured hand before releasing a deep exasperated breath, finally removing his coat. His hollow steps echoed against the apartment walls as he walked solemnlyback to the sofa he sat only moments before.

   "So, you believe me?" Emile raised his brows in slight puzzlement.

   Marcel groaned, he didn't know what to believe lately, "if I say yes, will you sit down?"

   "Well, that all depends." Emile smirked though it didn't quite reach his eyes.

   "On what?" Marcel questioned trying to not give in.

   "On whether or not you'll tell me about what the hell has been bothering you lately."

   Marcel hesitated before nodding, accepting "deal." He immediately regretted that decision. 

   Emile dropped onto the couch then, apartment dust flying through the air. Emile crossed his arms over his chest, expectantly waiting.

   Marcel rolled his eyes before bellowing, "Quit looking at me like that!"

   Emile shook his head in mock puzzlement, "like what?"

   Marcel sighed, "whatever, he mumbled, "you really wanna know?"

   Emile nodded, waving his hand in the air dramatically.

   "It's the originals, Klaus and Elijah Mikaelson. They are in town."

   Emile froze, but did not let it show; he was vaguely aware of the originals. But that didn't mean he did not know who they were, or specifically what they've done. Or more importantly what they were doing in New Orleans.

   "So,what do they want?" He questioned running a hand through his hair.

   "Beats me." Marcel shifted, "Klaus asked for Jane Anne."

 

   Emile felt his stomach shrink, Marcel couldn't find out.

   "Any idea why?" Emile questioned, palms sweating. He discreetly wiped them off on his slacks.

   "Why does it matter?!" Marcel shouted, wide grin returning, "she's dead, there isn't much she could do for them anyway."

   Emile forced himself to calm down as well as to breathe; but it was hard enough slowing down his heart rate. He suddenly wished he hadn't discarded the cigarette, it was his last one.

   "Tell me about it." He muttered quietly, head pounding. His fingers twitched, small sparks of magic clicking against his nails.

   A beat of silenced passed between them and Emile tried not to squirm; no longer feeling talkative.

   "So, who do you think did it?" He questioned, however not liking the silence either.

   Marcel blew out a breath, "Well I have an idea on who, and I can guarantee you this, they will regret it."

***

  FLASHBACK: ONE MONTH BEFORE

   Jane Anne paced back and forth nervously, biting at the edges of her fingernails anxiously. They were starting to bleed, but she ignored it. Sophie sat down beside her onto the cold ground, hands idly flipping through furniture magazines to pass the time as Jane Anne tried to sort through their rough sudden predicament. 

   Emile stood across the room, located in the farthest corner; his back to them. He was growing twitchy, annoyed by the constant shuffling of the woman's rugged boots against the wooden splintered floorboards. The squeak of their friction ringing in his ears.

   "No. Jane Anne muttered quietly, "no, absolutely not."

   Emile didn't bother to face them, his eyes closing in extreme exhaustion. If this woman didn't make up her mind anytime soon he was going to bolt, looking for any other alternative for an alliance.

   "Oh, c'mon Jane Anne!" It was Sophie. She had discarded the booklet and was now facing her older sister.

   "You said we would need all the help we could get, and he-" 

   Emile could feel the shadow of her finger pointing to his back. 

   "He came to us."

  "Soph, anybody!" I said anybody, but not the boy Marcel saved." Anybody, but him."How do you know this isn't just some trick?!" Jane bellowed dangerously low, her eyes flaring as she continued; "that he isn't just spying for Marcel?"

 

   Emile balanced his footing before spinning around. "I'm not." He defended silently, eyes ablaze as he met contact with their awaiting gaze.

   "I don't believe you." Jane sneered, crossing her arms over the other.

   Emile bit back a laugh. "And I really don't care." If this-he gestured to the space in between them-"is going to work out, if we are going to take down Marcel, we need to work together. "

   Jane Anne watched intently, her arms falling to her sides, suddenly captivated by his raging aura. Sophie tried conceal the ever growing smile that was threatening to pass through her quirking lips. Emile had a gift and he was using it.

   "What do you get out of this?" Jane questioned, breaking free from his magic trance. "Huh? What did Marcel do to you that finally got you to betray him?" 

   Emile smiled, a cruel and sinister smile that made Jane Anne want recoil back in uncertainty.

 

   "Because," Emile seethed, white pearly teeth grazing the bottom of his lip menacingly, "Marcel took something from me that he should have never taken and I fully intend on getting it back."


	2. Chapter 2

THERE was a cold gust of wind blowing through the darkened night, rustling the leaves, trailing against the soft fur of the night creatures; but despite it, all the gathered bodies of heat were shedding off their cozy layers in attempt to rid themselves of the nervous jitters that filtered strangely through them. No one had any inkling of what was to happen tonight, nor could any of them take an educated guess.

The stars were dimming lately, as if their astronomical essence was dwindling to an end. However, it seemed as it were the only source of light this night, the vestigious moon hiding within the grey polluted clouds, not letting itself be seen, almost as if it were afraid to be caught lingering alone in the night sky.

Hayley Marshall sat caged inside the entrance of the cemetery cavern, body malfunctioning from the ridiculous amounts of physical stress endured, nevertheless she still managed to grapple dangerously from inside the confinements of her imprisonment, the hairs on her neck standing up. She was going to get herself out of this predicament and soon, but she was going to have to wait until the right moment to do so. She had overheard the witches speaking, despite the long distance they had put between them and her. 

They were afraid, something she instantly took pleasure in. The amount of ludicrous tests they performed on her that morning would be enough to drive anyone to their end, to exact their revenge. Her sanity was slipping, from the moment she first stepped foot into the town of Mystic Falls with Tyler Lockwood hanging off her arm to having a one night stand with an original hybrid. Albeit being the naive wolf back then, she should have guessed it would only cause her more torment in the future.

She never foresaw herself ending up here, hand placed above her abdomen, caressing the nonexistent bump that would soon continue grow. Nor did she see herself standing face to face with Emile Staurt. His constant drag of a cigarette making her squirm. He had returned moments before from his time outside and he yet, did not utter a word. She watched him in mild curiosity, eyes constantly flickering over his tainted frame. He looked nothing like what the stories perceived him to be. Guaranteed that it said he would have the head of a wolf and body of a serpent. He was handsome, incredibly tall, where it said he would have a beasts head was a matrix feature with dark hair and exquisite eyes. Instead of smooth reptilian skin and body form, were muscles and lavish flesh instead.

Hayley had heard the legends. Stories of the compulsive young witch, abandoned and traded by his coven of witches, heard the stories of his barbaric trafficking life. If she thought she had a tragic background, then boy was she wrong. 

His mother was believed to be the coven heir to the New Orleans ancestry throne and his father, well, no one really knew about him, just the rumors. But Hayley Marshall didn't give in to the popostrous myths, their uncertainty behind false truths. Nothing good ever came of it; delving into them. However her beliefs of every myth changed the minute she shared an intimate night with the notorious Niklaus Mikaelson. 

Emile was smoking his night way, tall frame seated upon a civil crypt. Some witches filtered in and out of their comfort space to observe him, ignoring the pregnant wolf who continued to glare daggers at them. They were too invested in Emile and what he stood for, some watched him in worldly curiosity, eyes widening as they became flustered whenever he would give them his signature smirk. Others, however, well he didn't dwell too much on them. The last witch who came to take a good look at him was not in the least friendly. 

Agnes stared at him with a look of disdain clear in her eyes, a vicious sneer was collecting onto the rough edges of her lips. If she stared any harder Emile would just have to burn her eyes right out of her head.

And just as he was very much about to, Agnes was ushered out, Sophie Deveraux standing behind in her place. "It's about time." Emile jumped off his place on the seat to glare at Sophie. 

"What the hell is taking so long?" Sophie turned to glance at Hayley and then to him before turning around and quickly walking away, "Follow me." She called out, her footsteps echoing of the walls as she rounded the corner. Without any hesitation whatsoever they both began to follow.

The sound of leaves being crunched under the weight of human footing made Elijah turn around. However the sight of a young woman and man trailing behind Sophie Deveraux are what made his eyes widen. Elijah's world was about to take a grand turn. 

Hayley was hesitant to step up, her arms crossing over her chest as she took a defiant stance. Emile couldn't have cared less about the mysterious man who stood before him, only continuing to take a drag of his easy disintegrating cigarette. "Give us a moment." Elijah spoke, turning to face Sophie. Emile looked up then, turning to give Sophie an incredulous stare. "Who the hell is he?" 

 

The man stepped forward, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pristine slacks. His eyes slowly trailed up and down Emile's frame, eyes squinting as he observed the young witch before him. Then as his eyes trailed back to land on his face, he smiled. "I am Elijah Mikaelson, pleasure to make your acquaintance." Elijah held out his hand. 

Emile didn't take it.

Elijah retreated his hand after a moment, then gave Sophie a strange glance. "Well, if you would rather excuse me, I need to talk to her, alone." He pointed to Hayley as he beckoned her to follow him back inside. Deciding that Hayley had no other alternative but to listen, spun around to trail after him. 

There was a beat of silence after the two had disappeared inside. Before Sophie bellowed at Emile, "What the hell were you thinking?" She began to pace, hands flying as she shook her head. "You were only supposed to bring Klaus, not his older and supernaturally sophisticated brother." That was not part of the plan." Emile scoffed, fingers dropping the bud. "My only job was to conjure baby daddy Mikaelson, don't blame me for what happens after." He dropped onto his ass on a nearby tombstone, hands sifting through his hair irritatingly. 

"Everything is so not going according to plan." Sophie dropped her face into her hands. 

"Relax, it's only a small glitch, what could possibly go wrong?"

Sophie lifted her head from her hands, a dark glare edged towards Emile, "I'm going to hold that to you." She spat. He only shrugged. 

Emile waited patiently after that, a few witches had gathered hastily outside, eyes wondering all around them as they waited themselves. The trees bristled from above them, casting eerie shadows against their shoulders, resembling thorny arms as they caressed their victims to their death. Sophie had disappeared inside, her nervous tick gaining the upper hand against Emile's attempts to calm her. Not even his captivating aura could calm her. 

The sound of footsteps caused all heads to turn in the direction of the sound. Sophie emerged followed by Elijah. There was a displaced look in his eye as he gazed to the lingering witches.

His gaze flickered to Emile quickly, Emile saw the small movement of his head as he beckoned him to follow, then he turned away and began walking to observe a crypt that stood ordinarily a few feet away from the others. Emile's feet moved on their own accord only stopping when they reached Elijah's side. There was complete silence until Elijah spoke. 

"Sophie Deveraux tells me you two and the witches are conspiring against Marcel Gerard, despite the relationship you maintain with Marcel" May I inquire why?" Elijah faced him completely, head tilting in curiosity.

Emile blew out a breath of hot air, taken aback by the sudden bluntness of his question. 

"Other than the fact that Marcel is spiraling out of control?" Emile shrugged and looked to watch Elijah's expression. "I have my reasons and that's really all that needs to be established." No need to get further aquainted with each other than we have to, alright." 

Elijah narrowed his eyes, as Emile shot him a grim smile. He didn't care if this man was an original vampire or that he was going to help, Emile had a plan and he was sticking to it.

"You know," Elijah turned back around to face the lettering that occupied the stone, "I have met many people who went against those they cared about, in order to enact a petty vendetta they saw was fit for those who wronged them." Emile scoffed, although Elijah continued, "it did not end well for them."

"Why do you care?" Emile spat, his hand running narrowly through his hair. "It's my business." You have yours and I have mine."

Elijah spoke thoughtfully, "Perhaps." But let me ask you this, "after all is done and finished, then what? What is it you hope to accomplish with Marcel gone?" Elijah had placed a hand onto the stone, using it as a balance as he swung half way to stare at Emile. He didn't answer at first, sincerely pondering; then after a moment he uttered just one word that would stick with Elijah, before departing from the original. "Hell. "

Elijah watched him as he angrily pushed through the mass crowd of witches disappearing from sight. He was staring so intently, jaw clenched that he didn't notice Sophie creeping up behind him, arms folded across her chest. "Don't take it personally, that's just who Emile is." She was looking at the direction he stalked off to, her head shaking. Not much of a people person."

"What can you tell me of him" Elijah asked intrigued.

"It's more like what can't I tell you about him." Sophie answered. Elijah looked at her incredulously. "No one really knows much about him, only the stories." Elijah nodded for her to continue. "Many believe he was traded by his own coven in order to break the lineage of the Stuart family in New Orleans." Right after they had killed his mother in front of him." He was only six."

Elijah's heart sank, he was a splitting reminder of Niklaus. "And what of his father?" 

Sophie sighed, "No one really knows, according to legend he was an alpha, but the real secret died with his mother." Though that didn't stop people from speculating." 

"So, what of his story with Marcel?" Elijah questioned intently. 

"Marcel saved him." Sophie answered, lips puckered.

"From what exactly?"

"From being a slave." Sophie turned away, eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion. 

"And he wants Marcellus dead?" Why?" Elijah followed her movements. 

"Same reason as us." Sophie lied. "He's dangerous and unpredictable and we can't have that, Emile won't risk it. After all a witch always picks their kind, no matter what happened in the past." So if Marcel finds out about us, we are good as finished."

"And you need him because?" Elijah questioned, expression flabbergasted. "He is just one witch."

"He's not just one witch, he's Emile Staurt, heir to the ancestral throne, and leader to us all."

***

"...you've been with someone else admit it!" 

When Emile had returned, cooled down, he had heard the angry shouts, echoing out of the entry. But didn't bother himself to head inside and assess the dangerous commotion, that was happening inside. After his brief introduction to the eldest Mikaelson brother alive, he wandered around the city ignoring the local hotspots for Marcel's men and just enjoyed the magical scenery displayed before him. He felt like he could mentally breathe with the atmospheric convividy. There was much to New Orleans, it was a shame he was going to have to leave it all soon.

He stood back, casually leaning on a headstone, taking a long deep drag. He caught wind of Sophie's words and smiled, he had impeccable timing. "We can keep them safe." He heard her urge. Sophie always knew just the right words to say. But she could never get right to the point. Emile sighed and then stepped inside, letting his cigarette fall.

"Or we kill them." All three heads turned to him sharply. He grinned darkly, though he didn't like playing villain.

"But if you help us take down Marcel, then it will not come to that." Do you understand?" Sophie interjected and he bit back adding a snarky comment, deciding against his better judgement. His arm fell around Sophie's shoulders, taking in her warmth. "However if there is a moment of hesitation so help us Hayley won't live long enough to see her first maternity dress." Sophie finished, ducking out of Emile's arm.

Voices interrupted in protest, first from Hayley, "Wait, what?" 

Then Elijah, "Stop this. "If you want Marcel dead, I'll do it myself." He made way for the exit, but stopping when Emile shouted after him "No." 

"We have a clear plan that we need to follow if this is going to work." There are rules." It was Sophie who spoke.

Klaus stood rigid, his back turned to the others, Elijah glanced to him worriedly, eyes flickering between his brother and Emile who was a few feet in front of him. Then before anyone knew it, Klaus sped to attack Sophie, a vicious snarl seeping from his lips, but the young witch was ready, his hand shot out, stopping the hybrid in his place, mere inches from Sophie's face. 

"How dare you command me!" Klaus shouted, making the others flinch. Sophie nodded to Emile gratefully. "Threaten me with what you wrongfully perceive to be my weakness." Klaus growled dangerously low, overcome by red hot rage. "This is a pathetic deception. I won't hear anymore lies!" He struggled, wanting to be released. But Elijah gave him a commanding stare to hold his brother in place.

"Niklaus." Elijah spoke softly, but orderly. "Listen."

Klaus dropped his struggle and watched in utter amazement, eyes welling up in astonishment. It was a working class moment for them all, the evil villain was falling. But it ended quickly, and the same guarded look that occupied Klaus Mikaelson's face returned and the faces of everyone in the room fell. "Kill her and the baby." What do I care." 

Klaus struggled to be released and Emile did, stomach dropping.

"Well, that went fucking swell." Muttered Emile darkly, shaking his head.

***

Marcel stormed his way into the quarter shouting loudly for Emile, ignoring the crowd of partying vampires who stopped their acts to stare at him. The look on Marcel's face screamed trouble, however, that was not the case. He wasn't onto Emile and if things went according to plan he would never have to know. No, whatever this was, it was something else. 

But Emile wasn't there to answer his shouts, and all the lingering vamps just stood watching their leader's brows crease in confusion. Emile Stuart was never unresponsive to his callings and everyone knew that. Marcel began to walk to the staircase to fetch him himself but was halted by the immediate presence of an old foe.

Klaus struggled to hide his enthusiasm from the watchful set of eyes. He had just came from a very interesting talk with Marcel's witch and he was delighted. Marcel wasn't the king he believed himself to be and Klaus would show him exactly that.


End file.
